Down

I could drop my skin like a coat at the door

a human costume, helmet of hair

eyeholes devoid of substance, black and malleable

 

unlike the tough nervous flood

that singed my will; bereft

 

left its casing

 

and wisped away

like a smoke trail

 

confidence; obliterated

 

smithereens of a laden ego

where melancholia grew

its dark lichens spidered

over my waterlogged pneuma; dilapidated

 

teardrop splintered

self-induced weathering

that doubled over for what seemed to be

a time — infinite

 

until the big red exit sign

  appeared as clear and comfortable

as a life time of morphine

  dripping daydreams

of childhood games won with hugs and cake